Where Demons Hide
by BigDongsandProsper
Summary: After escaping from being sold by Reaver into a brothel, Sparrow returns three years later, with one desire; revenge.
1. Chapter 1

The creaks from aging ship boards distorted their nearing voices. It did not matter for she could only recognize one; that scornful tone, deep pitched, with a charming ring to it. And at the current moment, she wanted to avoid it with her life. But with the wooden door's hinges shrilling as it swung open and collided with the wall, her shackles felt ten times their weight and she knew she could not escape him.

"Oh, my dear minx," he said smoothly, releasing a chortle as stride towards her. His knees bent and his back crouched while his hand carassed against her cheek, dirt concealing her natural translucent complexion. "Such a pity. Once surviving in her ignorant bliss, yet drowning in her own dismay….such a shame, Sparrow."

Gazing into his sullen pupils, watching the darkness swarm in them, she mentally cursed and spat. But calmly, almost too calmly, she retorted, "At least I am enough human to have emotions."

"My, my, my, such profound charisma," he smirked, his brow rising by her statement. "You could be like me one day...well, probably not. But still...so alluring."

"Stop!" she hissed, her words echoing through the barren room. "Just stop and tell me where we're going!" Her eyes were already swollen, looking like black beads rimmed with red stains, either from the dense air in the ship's cabin or she was on the verge of weeping. "Please...please tell me."

To watch her vigorous personality shatter into feebleness pleased the man. His lips roused higher into his smirk from it, then he readjusted his bow tie and ponder what the effects would be if he gave a truthful reply. And in the end he concluded that whatever he said would alter her into a protest of riot, so instead of speaking, he produced a pair of scissors from his coat pocket, drew up her braid, holding together her sunshine colored locks and severed it off, leaving her with a fringe style haircut.

Then he lifted back to his feet and revolved around, proceeding to depart.

"What?" Sparrow's squeal sound pierced in her own ears. Her hand slinked to the back of her head, her fingers in search of that lengthy braid, yet finding nothing. "No...no...no! No….come back here you damn coward! Get back here! I swear to the gods if you do not come back here, I will kill you the moment I get out of these shackles!"

But he continued to the door and for the moment he opened it, a dim light pierced through the room. She had not witnessed light for almost a week. And with it, the aroma of sea whiffed into her nose.

'Why are we at sea,' she wondered, watching him exit the room, hauling the door closed behind him and the darkness returned.

And another week passed, another week where solitude embraced her with a dark surrounding.

Every time before she melted into sleep, she prayed for his return. Though with his return, Sparrow had lost her shackles and she had retrieved the sword she had been robbed of since he kidnapped her. It's point aims towards him upon his entrance. As he inches forward, she chambers it back, then heaves it forth where it strikes through his stomach.

After a soft thud and loud set of gurgling, she would glance down to watch death take him.

In some manner, Sparrow's desire came true.

His returned brought along to other men, one engorged with his wooden brown hair pushed back into a ponytail. Cowering close behind, able to hide behind his master's large frame, was the other man, almost the size of a child, save his height. And he never stopped trembling. Ever.

For his master, well what Sparrow assumed to be his master considering the man dressed in an elegant apparel, of grey trousers and a brown tunic, covered by a nobleman's coat, slight marred and fray at the cuff part, while the other, the diminutive, petit one, wore what seemed like rags stitched together in a pathetic attempt of making a shirt, continued to observed her. His green eyes, framed by curling lashes, yet rimmed with crust, were merely compressed upon her face before he rebounded.

"You've given better, Reaver," he retorted.

"And I could give much worse!" Reaver emerged from close behind and Sparrow scowled.

"You could…" admitted the man, reaching out to touch her like she was an animal placed in a cage. "But she will work. I assume the contract is signed."

She half whimpered while saying, "Signed? I didn't sign anything!"

"Oh and you didn't have to," Reaver replied, throwing his hand upon his chest as if he was honored. "I took the liberty of signing it for you. You know I'm a man of generosity. You're welcome."

"What did you sign?" she growled through gritted teeth.

Since no verbal answer came from Reaver, the man peered across his shoulder to his butler. "Stanley, please give me the contract Mr. Reaver signed for Ms. Watson."

The name was whispered the moment she snatched the scroll, discolored by age and impaired on the edges with scribbles of black ink crossed every inch. Reading it was a strive for every word was written in a small font and a vile, swift hand with harrowing penmanship. But what she could acknowledge altered her into fumes. "You…why this is a brothel contract…." she breathed, exchanging a set of glances with Reaver then moved on to the other man. "This is not my name signed on here….my name is Sparrow! Tell him, Reaver."

It was then the man passed his pore to Reaver and gave him a wondering look.

"She is one for roleplaying," was the only thing he said.

"You think you're Sparrow….the renown Hero living in Bowerstone Market?" The man's eyebrow surged higher. "Impossible! I've the women before, something beautiful she is with her muscular frame and long blonde hair. But you...you're nothing but bones. You're a filthy short - haired rat."

"No...no...I am her!" Sparrow hissed. She then gave Reaver a wounded stare. "It was him….he cut my hair and kept me dirty like this….it was all him."

And his reply to that was only a chortle. "A bit outspoken, isn't she, Reaver? I may have to slash your pay because of that….how do you feel about a thousand, two - hundred coins?"

"To be honest I feel a little miffed." This was Reaver's pathetic attempt at haggling. "Two - thousand."

"Not for this," he scoffed.

"Oh...then what a pity for you," Reaver lied through that scornful tone, as he brushed away the left side of his coat and revealed the butt of a pistol lolling in the holster.

The man and his butler rebounded.

"Give Mr. Reaver the two - thousand," he said after a long pause. His words were said between closed, gritted teeth, obviously loathing he was down eight - hundred for something like Sparrow, who he was now shifting his glance to. "As for you, miss, I welcome you….And I hope you enjoy it….for you're never going to leave."

**Hey everyone, I wrote this on a whim at school...doubt it will go far. None of my stories do...huh, that's sad :( But anyways, review, follow or favorite...or read! Or do whatever that tickles your pickles :)**

**~ Lady of Lake - Town ~**


	2. Chapter 2

More than bigotry and sully settled into those eyes, but a crave for lust. Sparrow could already sense it from cowering in the room's corner and though at first she assumed an accomplice to ease the desire would be from another girl. But with every step towards her, she endured the sudden revelation that she was his wish.

All the other girls were rough and had aggression concealed by skimpy lace lingerie and beehive hairstyles, yet experienced and infamous to the occasional customer. Surely, Sparrow mistakenly believe, they would be chosen over her.

But this man, tall though wide, representing the shape of an enlarged pulm with unconnected patches of a beard and blonde hair fading to a gray, must have needed something new. Perhaps he found these other girls cliche, growing him tiresome with every jaunt to his local brothel.

This was now the arrival of something fresh, something that was still pure.

"What do we have here?" His voice sounded like he was trying to devour a stick of butter, drowning over the sound of the coins jingling in his grasp. "You're new….Pretty too, ain't you? Very pretty.

"I got here twenty - cents from working at the blacksmith. I left the rest for my family….so why don't we go to the room close by and you'll make it worth my while."

Sparrow rebounded. "I'm not what you think I am, sir."

"Oh?" he mostly mouthed.

She nodded, though knew not to believe he understood. "I...I come from Bowerstone. I was abducted here and forced -."

"Bowerstone?" he repeated, his eyes growing twice their size. "My, you're far away from home, aren't you? Should have know, you're clean. I'll pay you extra."

"I'm not that, sir," hissed Sparrow, her attempted tranquil state losing its strength. "I'm not and I will not do anything with you, so keep your money!"

Perhaps her words had put him in fumes, or his temper was just naturally slender, for he grasped her arm and drew her closer in a heave. A flame ember seemed to light in his eyes, and he focused them upon her, enabling her terror. "Don't cross me, strumpet! You either get the job done or I'll rip you to pieces."

That stare of daggers, that brow furrowing closer together and those glossy eyes piercing deep in her were enough for Sparrow to whispered a hush apology.

For once she stood, without a weapon and without the power of Will.

Her confidence had always shadowed her fear, for she was a Hero, though now she felt feeble. She felt vulnerable. Powerless.

"I'll forgive you, if you follow what I ask," he offered.

"Fi...fine," she uttered.

So his hand slinked into her and he led Sparrow to one of the beds on the upstairs of the brothel.

Swiftly, he heaved her down upon it and commenced to climb on top of her, empathizing little with her winces and silent pleas. The bed frame creaked beneath them as he leaned into her neck, feeling her shudder as a strain of warm breath collided with her.

"Please….please, don't."

Despite her whimper, the man's fingers begun to unlatch the buttons of her corset. His pace was quick, even through her cries.

"Don't….please don't do this to me," Sparrow stammered. "Stop!"

Though he never did.

A cloud of dirt saturated the water as Sparrow cupped it up and threw it against her face.

In the mirror above, cracked through the center with a marred wooden border, she caught a glimpse of her reflection. Facially she had remained grim from the voyage yesterday, yet as she washed it off, the feeling of shame soddening her soul would not be cleansed.

Her breathing altered rapidly with it, while a blurr built in her eyes with a sudden sting. A numbness soon washed over her, as she turned still.

She had not released a tear since Rose's death.

Sixteen years she had strayed from anything that made her weep, sheltering herself from anything that would provoke a cry. Though now she had lost her control.

"I hate you Reaver!" she screeched, through the dimness, descending to the floorboards. "I will kill you! I will find you and torture you to death! I hate you….And I will kill you!"

Several years, revenge and fury would consume her.

Memories of the past, Lucien's downfall, her childhood, some days even her name had abandon her, save the name of Reaver and her hatred for him. Each day she awoke, she thought of his face being engulfed by flames and at night, his body would hang from a stake.

It was not until the late summer, after hundred of harrowing new memories and encounter, an element in her revenge scheme emerged.

**Well talk about not getting interesting…..maybe next chapter? Blah! I'll always suck! But that doesn't mean you guys can't follow or favorite! Or review, not that I read my reviews very often, you don't know how much hate mail I get daily. Oh it's horrible, me people! But anyways, do whatever tickles your pickle and does not cause a pain in your pant! Anyways, big dongs and prosper and I'll see you guys someday! :)**


	3. Chapter 3

The way was long upon an unbalanced stone path, but his head reminded high, with his lips steadily gapping apart every second, murmuring the word 'disobey'. As his ambled continued, encountered a meandering staircase that emerged to the top of the tower, his long coat swept across, absorbing the dirt that sullied the abandoned tower. Despite the ebony memories of his life here, he stayed, remote from the world itself, much like the man who created him.

"You summoned me," he said, his tone low pitched and smooth like velvet, as he arrived from the stairs to the barren platform with only four pillars surrounding the center and an enlarged window beyond it. Though dim, that figure concealed in red and rags slipped into view.

"Welcome, Azar," greeted the figure, positioning itself towards him.

He nodded. "What is it you want from me? Have you had another vision?"

"I have. Beyond the Spire, lies a small town. It is there a Hero is being held captive and with her there, Albion's existence is doomed to fail."

Azar commenced in another nod, a gesture to continue, though stopped for a moment to ask, "Is this the Hero who conquered my fallen creator,Theresa?"

The blind seer nodded.

"Sparrow, is that her name?"

Theresa nodded for a second time.

Azar followed the same motion. He rebound a little with thought and murmured, "She must be strong. I wonder what could have kidnapped her." His eyes veered to the seer and cleared his throat, attempting to catch her attention. "And what will come if she's not back in Albion."

"That vision is for another day. You must focus on the task at hand." She approached him steadily, building the suspense in him. "Hero dwells in a land north of Albion, in an isolated town. She was sold to a brothel by a legendary pirate, Reaver. I believe you are familiar with the name."

That blank expression pondering his face begun to darken into a glare. The name awoke bitter memories, ones Azar perfored to avoid. "Lucien spoke of many names when he was alive."

"True," she agreed. "But I warn you, Reaver's only pleasure is playing games with others. Hero's emotions will only get tangled in them, I fear. Do not let her."

"I swear I won't." He gave a hasty bow towards her in honor of his words. As he returned up, her hand reaching out to him fell into his vision. Ordering him to take her hand, Azar's hand slithered into her.

As he felt her downy hand rubbing against his, a light blue shade of light coiled around them. It produced a millions of sparks, blinding his view on Theresa's face until it had altered only into a dim light. And then, oblivion.

()

A day of toiling his master's mansion stood in front of him and if it was to ever satisfy Reaver, Alfrid, his new scanty butler who lacked hygiene though ironically was swift with his cleaning skills and had firm loyalty, needed to be spared of interruptions. And he would have been, for he had finished mending Reaver's room, prepared the entrance, allowed the highly qualified painter into the sitting room where Reaver was waiting, disposed of the corpse of the painter now with his blood oozing out from him, and was on the verge of polishing the staircase when a rap came from the door that shook him.

And he wondered if Reaver had a guest coming that he forgot to mention, though did not have the strength to inquire him. So instead he stride to the door, clutching the handle and drawing it forth, revealing a medium built blonde, her sunshine locks pinned in a neat bun without a hair out of place, though Alfrid barely knew that for she wore a burgundy hat, trimmed with black lace, matching her gown to perfection.

Her pales lips, looking plumped on her diminutive size head, were lift into a grin, as she said in a delicate tone, "Hello. I was wondering if the master of the manor would be home?"

"Oh yes, of course, miss," Alfrid said, exchanging the smile. He stepped to the side, allowing her passage in. "I'm sorry, Sire did not tell me he was expecting a visitor."

"Reaver," she muttered, holding her smile despite the name was burning in her mind.

He nodded.

"I apologize. I suppose my visit wasn't planned. But Reaver knows me well, I think if anything he will be astonished to see me," she laughed, softly.

"And what business do you have with him?" he queried, his tone sharpened.

"It's private. Nothing that would be important to a butler."

"Wrong. It's the master's business, which makes it my business."

Sparrow's chortled off the retort. She appreciated Alfrid's aggression, it must have assessed Reaver's tranquility often.

But instead of praise, she gave protest. "There is no need for hostilities. Reaver and I have a history that I am….somewhat ashamed of, too ashamed of sharing. Please, let me see him."

Fortunate for her sake, Alfrid's fatigue from laboring that day had weakened his guard, so he ushered her through the corridor and to the back room where Reaver was seated in front of his fireplace.

He seemed in a daze and it made Sparrow too wonder.

Was he admiring his luxury himself or his wealth?

Or was he planning another scheme that involved one's innocence and a profit for him?

"Sire, you have a visitor," announced Alfrid who took a hasty leave as his master came upon his feet.

Sparrow watched from a secure distance as Reaver's nose twitched, reminiscing of that familiar aroma, from an inexpensive perfume purchased at the gift stall. It wasn't a gift, he perceived, but something she bought in a swift rush and sprayed only on occasion. Meetings perhaps, visits, but she was an adventurer, he remembered, her hygiene was least put into regard.

"Well, dear me," he cried, spinning around to view her. "I never though a noble hero would jaunt over to my mansion….especially not you, Sparrow."

Each word enable her grin. "Reaver. It's good to see you. You're still looking well."

"Shame, I can't say the same about you," muttered the pirate.

"Spending years on an island, selling yourself for money to overweight and old men doesn't do you any favors," she said, agreeing in someway.

He shook his head in denial, inching towards the picture of brandy Alfrid had left out earlier that day. "Well no need to take umbrage upon my statement. You still wield an appealing vibe. Not to mention a rather captivating figure."

Her eyes watched his every move, despite his actions seemed harmless. He poured the brown liquid into the glasses, almost to the rim for he was not a stingy man and when pleased, he lifted them from the table and gestured for her to claim one.

She obeyed, finding the notion that all reunions to be nothing without a harsh drink and accepted the glass. Her gratitude went unheard as he sipped his.

"I can't help but wonder how you escaped," he said, though he didn't need an answer.

"I have my ways…..just like you." Sparrow's eyes veered off him and to the doorway, whirling the brandy around in her glass.

"You are bitter, aren't you? I robbed you of mutable years of queer memories. A life, really. Are you not miserable?"

That gleeful expression dimmed into a wounded stare. "Maybe. But I learned a lot from it. Would you like to see what I learned?"

And though he was bewildered that was all the emotion she showed, Reaver's care was only mere, so he nodded and felt her arms encircle around his neck. She reached her lips out, set to embrace his passionately and her eyelids plummeted downwards . And he did the same. Their bodies brushed against one of another, and their lips clung to each for almost a minute, until the sound of a click pierced through his ears.

His rebound was fleet, just as he shifted his eyes down where Sparrow had produced his Dragonstomper 48. within her clutch. It was now inches from his stomach, though he did not fear, he was too distracted mentally praising her skills.

"My, my, my dear minx, what are you going to do next?"

()

**Well talk about sucky! Sorry readers, you guys know I have little to no confidence in my writing.**

**Anyways, I just want to say Azar doesn't belong to me. He was given to me by one of my amazing reader, BewilderForce, so all credits go to her and her amazing skills! :) He gets more active soon. Also, I have to admit Alfrid doesn't belong to me either (my God can I not make characters by myself! Haha, guess not). No, although he was actually Reaver's butler, just when Reaver was actually hot. If you get that reference I want to kiss you…..**

**If you review, follow or favorite I also want to smooch you! Unless you don't want my herpes, than no kissing, just thank you!**

**Anyways, you guys know the ditty, review, follow, favorite or whatever tickles your pickle :D**


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